


The Scars That Heal

by LitRaptor42



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: ALICE YOU DISASTER CHILD, Angst, Burns, F/F, F/M, Gen, Love, Slow Burn, holy shit i did way too much research for this, lol, the cutest of babies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LitRaptor42/pseuds/LitRaptor42
Summary: Killian Jones is a mess: a new and very young father who is still recovering from the explosive boat accident that killed his brother, he's struggling to raise wee Alice on little more than disability benefits and his own stubbornness. Little does he know that the grumpiest member of his new therapy group is wrestling with many of the same problems... yet she can offer hope, a family, and a reluctant sort of friendship. An angsty multishipping Knightrook AU that is WAY too close to home for my tastes, but I'm writing it anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleebug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleebug/gifts), [killianmesmalls](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=killianmesmalls).



Killian leaned against the door, shoving it open with his elbow, and cautiously stuck his head in. The quiet conversation inside died, and several heads turned in his direction. He froze. At last he swallowed and made himself push the rest of the way through the door, hauling the baby along with him.

He awkwardly walked toward the assembled group, sitting in a loose circle under the lights. The church hall had been casually divided by a folding wall, and the space beyond was dark. He could smell coffee, and his stomach rumbled at the sight of donuts sitting on a side table, reminding him that he hadn’t actually eaten yet today. So much time, and he’d wasted it all.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said meekly, and edged into an empty seat, setting the Alice’s carrycot next to him. “And my apologies for bringing along the little one – I couldn’t find a babysitter, but she just had supper, so she should nap for a while.”

“No problem. She’s welcome to join us, too,” said a young man, smiling. “We were just introducing ourselves.” He was a handsome black man, his hair cropped short and his hands gently folded in his lap. _Merlin, Group_ _Leader_ , his nametag read.

“Aww!  What a little sweetheart!” cooed the woman next to Killian. She edged her motorized wheelchair closer, bright red hair dipping over her delighted face as she bent to look down at Alice, who was peacefully asleep in her carrycot. “How old is she?”

“Um… almost ten months,” Killian answered gratefully. The woman _oohed_ and _aahed_ some more, lowering a hand down to the cot to gently squeeze one of Alice’s plump wrists.

He looked up and accidentally locked eyes with a young girl directly across from him, voluminous blonde hair spilling all over the shoulders of her leather jacket. She sniffed and looked away, her mouth set tight and her green eyes cold. One of the other women in the group was also smiling at Alice, though, twirling a finger through her own dark, pin-straight hair.

“Well, let’s just go ahead and start over again,” their leader said calmly. “Obviously you all know me at least a little bit, since you’ve been referred here. My name’s Forrest Merlin, and I’m a licensed burn recovery therapist from the Boston Special Care Unit. I grew up and went to school in England, though, so you’ll have to forgive me for my indifferent comprehension of Boston accents.”

There was an obliging chuckle from the group. Merlin looked to his left, to a young woman wearing a colorful hijab and clutching a white-tipped cane. “Jasmine, I know you already introduced yourself to the rest of the group, but would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself?”

“Sure,” the woman said, with a nervous smile. She was wearing dark sunglasses, and Killian watched as she took a deep breath and let it out, one hand fluttering the edges of her scarf. “I’m Jasmine Bukhari. I came to Boston from Pakistan a few years ago, and I live over in Mission Hill. I’m working on my degree in sociology, and, um... I’m getting married in three months.”

Killian couldn’t help but smile; she looked so happy. “Aww!” exclaimed the red-haired woman, her face alight with excitement, and clapped her hands. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” said Jasmine, her shoulders sagging with relief as she smiled more widely. She paused, and shrugged. “I guess that’s it about me,” she admitted, and laughed.

They continued around the circle, introducing themselves. The girl with the dark hair was a bartender named Ruby, while the excitable scarlet-haired woman, to Killian’s astonishment, gave her name as Ariel, and her occupation as a tattoo artist. That rather explained the lush illustrations of seaweed and fish twining down her slim arms and all the way onto her scarred, mostly-amputated hands.

Then it was Killian’s turn. He cleared his throat and waved a tentative hand. “Killian Jones. Also from the UK, the less posh parts. I’m, ah… living in North End with wee Alice at the moment.”

He stopped, struggling to find something else to say about himself to a circle of total strangers. Certainly nothing about Liam and the accident. Or bloody fucking Eloise. What else was there, though? He was an unemployed twenty-three-year-old college dropout who spent all of his time with an infant. _I can’t even discuss television anymore_ , he thought with disbelief. He’d canceled their cable and streaming services months ago.

He shook his head and shrugged, absently plucking at the edges of his left sleeve, pulling it down over the end of his arm. “Thanks, Killian,” Merlin said with a smile, obviously sensing his discomfort. “Glad to have you and Alice here tonight.”

Killian sat back and half-listened as the rest of the group gave their names. He got an impression of ordinary humans with functional lives, smiling convincingly for their peers, hiding their nerves. Every word they spoke seemed to drill into his spine, making him sink lower and lower in the seat. He glanced down at Alice, despair roiling his stomach. _Why couldn’t you have ended up with one of them?_ he thought miserably, watching as her tiny fingers absently flexed in her sleep. _They’ve all moved on, gotten their lives together. Instead you end up with the wallowing manic-depressive who can barely afford his rent_.

“And last but not least, how about my neighbor here?” said Merlin politely. Killian looked up to see their leader looking to his right, at the scowling blonde woman.

There was a moment of silence; the young woman was chewing on a few strands of hair, eyes hooded and turned to the ground. At last she pulled the hair from her mouth, then jammed her hand back into her pocket. “Pass,” she said flatly, with no more than a glance at Merlin.

Amazed relief gushed through Killian’s stomach, and he stared at the woman - girl, almost. She was skinny, draped in an oversized military-style coat and wearing glasses with thick black frames. He thought she couldn’t be much more than twenty-one, probably not even his own age. He knew it was none of his business to wonder where her scars were hidden, but she was the only person in the room who seemed to have none at all, except a small indent in her left eyebrow.

A couple of the other attendees had raised their eyebrows, looking irritated, but Merlin seemed unperturbed. “Okay,” he said easily. “It’s all right if you’re not comfortable sharing yet. Sometimes it can help to just sit and listen.”

The girl rolled her eyes and went back to chewing on her hair. “And that goes for everyone,” their leader added, looking with serious dark eyes around the circle. “You need only share with the group when you feel comfortable doing so. For instance, I have no problem speaking openly about how I ended up in the burn ward at BSCU, but I would never ask that anyone else to do so unless you are ready.”

Killian half-heartedly listened as Merlin went on to explain the purpose of the group; that it was very unusual for Boston SCU to host group meetings rather than individual sessions, but that some individuals needed to hear other voices than those of doctors and therapists. Grudgingly, Killian had to admit he was in that category. Aside from his physical therapist and the part-time grief counselor at the North End community clinic (and the bloody federal government employees who were trying to rip away his disability assistance for the fourth time), he rarely spoke to anyone at length, aside from Alice. And her babbling, no matter how cheerful or enthusiastic, couldn’t exactly be considered productively therapeutic.

The meeting lasted nearly an hour, and some of the attendees were more open than others. Jasmine shyly admitted that she had been struggling with caring for her appearance lately, since she couldn’t see her own face and her fiancé didn’t seem to mind what she looked like. Ariel cheerfully chatted at length about the _adorable_ boy she’d met at some kind of community fundraiser, and how they were going on their first date that weekend. Even Ruby, although shy at first, mentioned that she had thought about applying to culinary school, but she was worried about the face-to-face interview.

Killian sat back and said nothing, his insides crawling with shame and self-censure. He had nothing to contribute. Another man across the circle – Killian couldn’t remember his name, but he was a reporter – admitted that he couldn’t find much of anything positive to talk about, that he’d had a hard time looking in the mirror lately. A woman who said she was a college professor got choked up when she talked about the students at school giving her cruel nicknames.

Alice woke up and began squirming in her carrycot, so Killian reached down and picked her up, feeling horrendously self-conscious as he cradled her against his chest with his left arm, murmuring softly in her ear. He wished he had worn the pressure sleeve on his arm to hide the hideous, lumpy scars, but the sleeve made driving even more difficult than it already was.

He frowned, irritable with his own vapidity and conceit.  His wasn’t nearly the most noticeable injury in the room. The girl named Ruby was quite conventionally pretty, if one ignored the melted appearance of the right half of her face, despite the obvious use of extensive skin grafts; another man, sitting in a motorized wheelchair even more sophisticated than Ariel’s, had neither arms nor legs.

 _At least you’ve still got five fingers left, mate_ , Killian chided himself bitterly.

Still, he remained silent. He wasn’t surprised that the blonde girl also kept her lips tightly shut for the remainder of the meeting. She peered sullenly from beneath her beanie, legs spread defiantly, slouching lower and lower in her chair until her chin was practically propped on her chest.

 _I hope she’s getting more out of this than I am_ , he thought tiredly, rubbing his fingertips in soothing circles on Alice’s back and thinking with longing of his soft (albeit narrow) bed at home, with the warm faux-down comforter, the baby’s crib sandwiched longways between the bed’s footboard and the far wall. She had been remarkably good for the past few nights, going to sleep only moments after being laid in bed and waking up only once or twice.

“Do me a favor, darling,” he murmured in her ear now. “Let your poor old man get a good night’s sleep tonight, aye?”

* * *

The meeting ended around eight, some of the attendees dispersing while others stuck around to chat and enjoy a donut. He was helping himself to a cup of decaf coffee when the sudden sound of a throat clearing came from his left.

Killian looked down and was astonished to see the petite blonde girl staring up at him. “You said you live in North End?” she asked, her eyes flat and unreadable.

He blinked for a moment, but nodded. “Yeah, around the corner from Bellino’s Pizza.”

The corner of her mouth twisted, as if to scoff that she didn’t really care. “You drive?” she asked, glancing at his left arm, which was currently holding Alice against his shoulder. Or more specifically, at the bit of thickened scar tissue that poked from his shirtsleeve and ended an inch or two below where a wrist had once been. The dual implications of her question were clear.

He frowned at her, little shards of ice forming around his heart. “Yes, I did,” he answered shortly. Then he added, almost challenging, “Why, are you looking for a ride?”

Alice had stuck a fist in her mouth and was gnawing on it; she withdrew it now, smacking her palm against Killian’s neck with a wet splat. The blonde girl snorted, but something in her eyes softened as she looked at the baby. “Yeah,” she said, grudgingly. “I got a ride here, but he bailed on me, and I don’t have money for a taxi or the metro.”

Killian sighed. Alice could probably last the extra few minutes it’d take to drop the girl off – North End wasn’t very big. And the weather was far too miserable to suggest that she just walk.

“All right,” he said, and watched as some of the tension disappeared from the girl’s tight shoulders. “Let me have a donut first though, all right? I haven’t eaten all day.”

She stared at him, then shrugged with bad grace. But after a moment she hesitantly stuck out her hand. “I’m Emma,” she muttered. “Thanks.”

Killian smiled and accepted the handshake, gently squeezing her fingers before releasing them. “Well, you already know, but I’m Killian. And this is Alice, the infant menace of Wright Avenue,” he added, tilting his head to kiss the baby’s soft forehead. “You can share the backseat with her if you so dare, or sit up front with me.”

The girl named Emma snorted again, but yet again, she was smiling crookedly. She turned and reached out to take a donut of her own. When she raised it to her mouth take a bite (powdered sugar puffing everywhere), her sleeve pulled back to reveal the knotted mass of scar tissue that covered her palm, disappearing beneath her shirt cuff. Killian looked away. Well, that answered his question.

They left ten minutes later, fighting against Friday evening traffic to get back uptown. Emma chose to sit in the back seat with the baby, and Killian found himself grateful. No need for small talk.

He could hear her from behind the driver’s seat, though, murmuring soft words to the baby. Alice was already half-asleep, burbling and half-heartedly grabbing at the window toys, and he prayed he’d have no trouble putting her down to bed. He caught the sound of Emma laughing, a light giggle, and as headlights flashed into the car, he saw in the rearview mirror that she was smiling down at the baby.  When she wasn’t hiding suspiciously behind that wild tangle of curly hair, she was very pretty, with angled cheekbones and a sweet little dimpled chin.

By the time they finally pulled up to the corner of Seventeenth and Knight streets, it was nearly eight o’clock. “Your stop, love,” Killian said politely, and put the car in park.

There was an awkward throat-clearing; the back door clunked open and he heard the crunch of footsteps as she stepped out, then a slam. Killian half-expected her to just walk off.

But to his surprise, she tapped on his window. He awkwardly reached crosswise and rolled it down, involuntarily wincing at the blast of cold air.

“Thanks,” she said reluctantly, hair dangling in her face. “Nice to meet you. And your daughter.”

Killian opened his mouth to correct her: but it wasn’t worth wasting his breath. It wasn’t as if he knew otherwise. “You’re most welcome,” he answered instead, and gave her a friendly smile. “See you next month, maybe.”

No telling whether she’d seen his expression in the dark. She just gave a quick nod and turned away, hair flying. He rolled the window up with a sigh.

Alice gave a little grunting whine, smacking her mittened hands on her coat with soft _pap-pap_ noises. “It’s all right, love,” Killian said reassuringly, twisting around in his seat to reach back for her. The motion made his left arm and shoulder shriek in protest, and he winced, but grabbed one of her wee hands and shook it gently. “We’ll be home soon.”

She was fussy the whole way home, and wriggly when he finally pulled her from the carseat. “Eh, eh, eh,” she said in his ear, kicking her booted feet into his midsection with surprising strength.

“I know, it’s terrible cold out here, wee lass,” Killian agreed. “Or did you fancy the mysterious Miss Emma?”

Alice gurgled, spitting bubbles and making a faint screeching noise. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Killian said, chuckling, and slammed the back door.

He’d had to park halfway down the street from their crummy studio apartment, so he hurried down the sidewalk, clutching the baby close and fumbling in his pocket for the keys.  The door was heavy, nearly impossible to open one-handed, and stuck in the cold or the heat: last week he hadn’t been able to get it open at all, and had ended up buzzing a neighbor, lying and saying he’d forgotten his key.

As he approached the door, someone came up next to him, jingling their own keys. “Hey, mate,” said his downstairs neighbor Will, with a friendly grin. “Looks like you’ve got your arms full, there. Let me help.”

“Thanks,” Killian said gratefully, as the other man unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Will gestured him in, and he stepped inside, his shoulders sagging with relief at the warm food-scented stairwell.  Someone was making spaghetti with meatballs; Killian would place his bets on the elderly lady who lived on the second floor with two equally ancient cats.

“No problem. You and the little one have a good night,” his neighbor said cheerfully, and let the door close behind them.

They parted then, Killian up and Will down. Most of the building tenants (including Killian himself) kept to themselves, so they’d only met a few times in passing. But in this end of town, he  was always grateful for a friendly sort of neighbor.

He unlocked his own front door with ease and eeled inside, leaning back with Alice to lock it again. “All right, darling, I understand,” he said softly, and kicked his shoes off. Even from inside her thick clothing, he could smell that she needed a diaper change before bed. No wonder she was so wiggly.

She permitted him to divest her of coat and hat, but whined and struggled when he laid her down for a change, kicking her fat feet and managing to pee just off the edge of the cloth he’d laid atop their dresser. Killian grumbled in his throat, trying his best to express his frustration without words she might somehow understand. He often wondered if Alice was anything like her namesake, or was simply a miniature of her mother. As usual, he found himself praying it wasn’t the latter; Eloise had been a messy roil of poorly disguised ambition, beautiful and brilliant but full of impetuous, selfish rage.

As if to confirm his fears, Alice wailed now, squirming out from under his near-useless left arm and twisting to make it impossible for him to fasten her diaper with only his right hand. Exhaustion was beginning to make him weak in the knees, and Killian felt tears of frustration pricking at his eyes.

“Please, sweetheart,” he begged in a whisper. “Just let me do this, and you can sleep.”

Her little face was scrunched up, bright red, and she whimpered briefly. He leaned over and softly kissed her nose, brushing his lashes against her cheek in a butterfly kiss as well, and her lower lip trembled. But for a moment, she grabbed for his necklace and stopped squirming. Quickly, he fastened the diaper’s sticky tab and pulled down her onesie to button it.

He kissed her cheek again, and lifted her onto his shoulder, patting her back, then reached for a wipe to clean up the spilled urine. “There we go, love. All clean and ready for your pajamas,” he murmured in her ear, and made _shh-shh-shh_ noises. As Alice calmed, her little body relaxed against his, and relief flooded his eyes, sending the tears spilling onto his cheeks.

And it was then that he noticed how cold the room was, frigid enough that he was beginning to shiver involuntarily. Killian’s throat tightened again, and he stepped over to the thermostat beside the couch.

“Bloody hell, _no_ ,” he said in disbelief. His knees finally gave way, and he sank down onto the decrepit sofa, despair choking him. The heat had gone off again, and the thermostat was registering a chilly fifty degrees - which was barely ten, by his reckoning.

He considered whether he should bother calling his landlady and leaving a message. But he was late paying rent, and on his heating bills, as well. No help for that until Friday, when his disability check landed. And in the meantime he ran the risk of pissing the old woman off.

 _Maybe I should call the bloody lawyer, instead_ , he thought with bitter amusement.  At his therapist’s urging, he’d filed a lawsuit against the manufacturer of the boat’s gas tanks nearly seven months ago, not long after he’d brought Alice home. But the lawyer had told him it might be another year or two before he saw any compensation for his injuries, even if they settled. Killian knew little enough about the American legal system to think that was unreasonable; and at any rate, two years seemed like an eternity when he was looking at being Alice’s sole parent for the foreseeable future.

He let out a long breath, closing his eyes and irritably swiping the tears from his cheeks. No, there was nothing to be done about the heating tonight. He’d just have to make sure Alice stayed warm another way.

With resignation, he coaxed her into her fuzzy lamb pajamas, laid her carefully on her back in his bed, on the wall side, and pulled the covers up over her. He eased into bed next to her, then scrunched her little blankie down under the covers between them to keep from rolling over onto her side of the bed. Better to let her get away with sleeping with him than to lie awake all night, worrying that she was slowly freezing to death in her crib.

Alice was already spread-eagled, little limbs relaxing and her face soft with sleepy peace. “Da,” she murmured quietly, her voice obscured by the thumb in her mouth, but the word quite clear. “Dadada.”

Killian turned on his side to face her. She had Eloise’s pale little brows and narrow chin, but the beautiful fat cheeks and dimpled wrists of an otherwise average, healthy baby. His chest suddenly felt like it might burst with love and wistful affection.

“Yeah… I guess I am your da,” he whispered, and gently brushed his lips against her forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

Killian sighed, resting his head on the freezer door and staring with resignation into the refrigerator below.  A half-empty bottle of ketchup and two cloudy jars of pickled jalapenos constituted the pathetic entirety of the refrigerator’s contents, not counting the two Tupperware containers of unidentifiable, practically sentient leftovers from God only knew when. There was little more in the pantry: an inch or so of vegetable oil, a jar of peanut butter (he didn’t even _like_ peanut butter, why had he bought the bloody stuff?), shortening, various spices, and the last of the saltine crackers from when he’d been sick last month.

Luckily, a nearby church doted on single parents, and Killian never had any trouble getting ahold of supplies for the babe. The pantry was chock-full of formula and baby food: keeping Alice fat and happy wasn’t an issue.

Feeding himself, however, was another matter.

“Guess it’s finally time,” he mumbled, exhausted at the mere idea of leaving the apartment. Even aside from the depression dragging him down, November had been unseasonably frigid and snowy this year, the sidewalks slippery with thick flakes and the icy, unplowed streets making car trips all but impossible, even when he could afford gas.

Still. He’d been living on cheap soup and noodles from the corner store on the next block for several months, and just this week, he’d finally been approved for food stamps. So he’d finally be able to afford fresh fruit, and meat that didn’t taste of pure salt. He’d checked the website for the federal agency that sponsored his stamps, and although there was a staggering number of limitations on the non-food items he could buy, at least he would be able to get some milk, too. Maybe even good cheese, the kind that didn’t come in little clingy wraps. Thank God neither he nor Alice had any allergies - anything relatively nutritious would do.

He let out a long breath, closed the fridge, and trudged over to sit on the carpet next to Alice. The ancient bouncer squeaked as she happily jumped up and down, fat fingers twined in her doll’s hair as she talked to it.

Killian reached out and tousled her little fluff of blonde curls. “How do you feel about venturing out to get some groceries with me, lass?” he asked.

“Guh,” she answered enthusiastically, and offered him a wide, gummy smile, lifting up her doll towards him.

He smiled back and accepted the doll, swallowing to quell the pang of furious love twisting beneath his breastbone. Sometimes it felt like he was barely treading water with the lass, especially on days when she was particularly loud and fussy, and he was particularly lonely and in pain. And more than once, he wished he could just _be alone_ for one bloody minute, his head aching from the stress and frustration of raising a child that may not even be his own, all by himself... tethered to her like a dog on a leash.

But he’d fallen in love with nameless Baby Gardener the moment he’d seen her at the hospital, swaddled in her bassinet, red-faced and screaming for attention. And he had never once considered letting someone else take her.

“All right, then,” Killian said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “Let me get our coats and boots, and we’ll be off.”

So with Alice tucked into the carrier against his chest, bundled up in her pink snowsuit and the oversized hat one of the parish ladies had knitted for her, Killian set out for the grocery store in the next neighborhood. The car was nearly out of gas, so they might as well walk.

 _It’ll also keep me from buying too many things_ , he thought tiredly.  

Although it was still quite cold and brisk, the wind had died down, at least. He tramped down the sidewalk, faintly enjoying the crunch of snow beneath his boots and the clean, sparkling blue of the sky above. He hadn’t left the apartment in nearly a week, spending all his free time on the couch job-searching or curled up in bed nearly paralyzed with depression, and was astonished to see the garlands, wreaths, and lights decorating every lamppost and window.

“Good grief, lass, we missed Thanksgiving,” he told Alice incredulously.

She waved her little arms in response and babbled something, making a passing couple smile, but Killian suddenly felt like he could cry. Not that it was extraordinary for him to have forgotten an exclusively American holiday - especially since he had no job at the moment, and no therapy appointments in the preceding week, so there was no one to remind him of what day it was. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if today was Saturday or Sunday.

Still… it struck him as terribly pathetic that he’d been alone with an infant in a tiny studio apartment on a day when most Bostonians were gathering for huge family feasts. “Eating a bloody bowl of ramen noodles and spooning out strained peas,” he muttered.

By the time they reached the grocery store, his face was burning with the cold, and Alice was beginning to whine and emit little pouty sobs. The automatic doors whizzed open, releasing a blast of warm air, and Killian sighed, reaching up to unzip his coat.

“Ready for some shopping?” he said cheerfully to Alice, and unbuckled the chest carrier to lower her into the seat of a grocery cart. She resisted for a moment, kicking and fussing, but eventually let him slide her legs through, her fat cheeks creased with a suspicious frown.

With his teeth, he pulled the glove from his right hand and stuffed it in his pocket. He hesitated momentarily, but yanked the pressure sleeve from his left arm, too, rubbing at the thickened skin to warm it up. _Bugger anyone who wants to stare_ , he thought grimly. Then he gently pulled off Alice’s hat and gloves, and set off into the store.

He’d written himself a brief list of the items he could get with the stamps, and then a list of items he might buy with the small amount of cash in his pocket. His next disability check wasn’t set to hit his bank account for another week, and even then it was going to go towards rent, so there wasn’t a lot of wiggle room to splurge on treats.

Alice settled down as they traversed the produce section, looking around and pointing at everything with enthusiastic “Eh!” noises. Killian obligingly told her what each item was, relieved by her comfortable giggles.

And everyone around them was charmed by her. He paused the cart more than once to allow a passing old lady to coo over his “daughter.” The word didn’t seem so foreign nowadays: after all, who else could she possibly be?

As they reached a tall display of bananas, Killian stopped, biting his lip and staring at a long row of apples nearby, green and red and yellow. He reached out to pick up a Fuji, and raised the apple to his nose to inhale its crisp tang. It smelled of summer, of sweet juice and the faint bitter crunch of fruit skin, and his stomach rumbled.

But when he turned to put it into the cart, Alice was innocently clutching a banana in both hands, the fruit obviously pilfered from the nearby display. “You sticky-fingered little monkey,” Killian said to her, mock-outraged. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”

She looked up at him, then down at the banana, and finally back up again, her cheeks flushed red and her blue eyes sparkling. “Buh,” she said with confidence, and offered it to him.

“Yes, buh-nana,” Killian answered, amused, and took the fruit from her, pinching the stem to dangle it before her. “You want this? Want me to buy some bananas?”

Alice stared at the banana intently, then reached out for it again. When Killian gave it back, she immediately clutched it to her chest, tiny fingernails pressing dimples into the yellow flesh. “Bah!” she insisted, brows furrowed.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “All right. Not my favorite, but bananas it is.” He put the apple back into its display, and chose a small bundle of bananas to place into the cart. They would be a fun solid food for her snacks, since she liked to eat her meals one tiny handful at a time, and he himself could munch on them for breakfast this week. They were cheaper than apples, anyway.

“Got a little foodie on your hands?” a deep voice said on his left, and Killian turned to see a tall man in a green apron, grinning down at Alice. _David_ , read the nametag pinned to his apron.

Killian smiled back. “Aye, she’s got a mind of her own.”

The man, obviously a store employee, held out a large hand for the banana, rummaging in his apron pocket with the other. “Can I borrow that for a second?” he asked Alice politely. “I promise to give it right back.”

She regarded the stranger suspiciously, lips pursed; but after a moment, she unclenched her little fists from around the fruit and let it fall into his hand. Killian watched as the man placed a round pink sticker on the banana and gave it back to the baby. “There you go, kiddo,” the man said cheerfully, and ruffled Alice’s hair. “Enjoy a freebie while you’re shopping.”

Killian’s gut twisted, and he swallowed at the sudden lump in his throat. “Thanks very much,” he said hoarsely.

The man gave him a queer sort of look, but smiled. “Of course,” he responded. “Happy holidays.”

Both he and Alice watched the man walk away. Killian clenched his hand on the shopping cart’s handle, willing himself to get moving again.

“Gah,” said Alice at last, thoughtfully, and threw her banana.

* * *

They made it to the checkout without much further incident. Killian obsessively counted and re-counted the price of the items in his cart, and cursed himself for not clipping coupons this month. If he’d done all of his math right, he would be getting some wheat bread, skim milk, a pound of cheese, canned pineapple and peaches, Alice’s bananas, some veg (he’d mostly gone for canned beans and potatoes, since he had no intention of letting anything spoil), two pounds of brown rice, and cans of pasta sauce with spaghetti to go with them, for not much more than forty dollars. At nearly five dollars a pound, butter was out of the question, but there had been a splendid two-for-one sale on meats, so he’d bought two cheap packets of sausages, as well, just for variety.

He thanked his luck that Liam had left behind a load of cookware and spices, not to mention the huge canister of butter-flavored shortening that would probably last him another year. If only the oven worked, he’d buy some flour and bake homemade bread.

 _I’ll freeze half the sausage, and use the rest this week_ , he thought happily, and angled the cart toward one of the lines with a cashier. Sometimes the self-check machines wouldn’t take his EBT card.

Alice was beginning to get restless, kicking her feet and grabbing at any part of his coat she could reach, and making the sort of diminishing _Wehhh_ noise that usually preceded full-on bawling, her lower lip sticking out. As they reached the checkout, Killian obligingly lifted her from the seat and held her against his chest. She put her thumb in her mouth, curling against him and quieting.

He took a deep breath, patting her back. “We’re almost done, darling,” he said softly. “We just have to pay for everything.”

They waited in line for a few more minutes, quiet and peaceful amidst the babbles of voices, the echo of overhead music, and the beeping of the scanners. Killian absently looked around as he gently bounced Alice, watching the other shoppers.

The person in front of him finally departed, and the cashier activated the belt to bring his food forward. “Can you put it all in here, please?” Killian asked, nudging his cart forward with his hip, and pointed at his backpack.

“Sure thing,” she answered cheerfully, plucking it from the belt. She was young, as were most of the cashiers, clad in a polo shirt with the store’s logo and the familiar green apron. “Has baby been having fun today?”

Killian smiled, looking down at Alice. She was regarding the cashier with a curious gaze, still sucking on her thumb and clinging to him. “Aye, as much fun as she can have in a grocery store,” he answered, stroking her hair. “One of the clerks over in produce was kind enough to award her that banana, after she swiped it from the display.”

The cashier laughed, picked up the stickered banana (only slightly bruised from having been thrown several times) and added it to the bunch already in his backpack. “That was sweet of them. You know we have babysitters here, right?  I mean, maybe you enjoy hauling around your cutie. But if you ever get tired of it, there’s a child care area.”

She turned and pointed to an archway on the near wall, halfway down the row of checkout lines. _The Play House_ , read a sign made of large, colorful alphabet letters. Killian blinked: he’d never even noticed it before. “Do they, er… watch children this young?” he asked, astonished.

“Oh, yeah,” the cashier answered casually, her hands quickly moving as she scanned items and slotted them into his backpack. “David, one of the managers, he brings in his baby when he has late afternoon shifts, until his wife can come in and pick him up after work. Nick’s pretty little, too.”

Killian briefly wondered if she was talking about the same David who had given Alice her banana. But the thought vanished in the wake of the sudden realization that if Alice would tolerate the babysitters here, he _could_ get a moment alone, even if it was just for grocery shopping.  “That’s good to know,” he remarked thoughtfully.

The cashier scanned his last few items, and placed them into the backpack, helpfully zipping it up before hauling it up onto the counter for him. “Okay, that’ll be fifty-eight fifty, even,” she announced.

Painfully self-conscious that other customers might be watching, Killian slipped the EBT card from his breast pocket and handed it over to be swiped. He watched the screen, holding his breath as the system automatically debited items off the list, each one turning red. The total blinked a few times, the numbers going down, and he found his spirits rising.

At last the blinking stopped, and the cashier handed back his card. “You’re down to a grand total of fifteen dollars and seventeen cents,” she informed him, with a cheeky grin. “The only thing that wasn’t covered was the vitamins and shampoo and stuff.”

 _Oh, thank Christ_ , Killian thought dimly, and broke into a wide smile as he fumbled to pull a few bills from his pocket.

He walked out of the grocery store with a jaunty step, despite the heavy backpack on his shoulders and a deadweight Alice half-asleep in her carrier on his chest. He felt like whistling for joy. It might be freezing  and miserable, and certainly he was in the middle of one of the worst bouts of depression in recent memory... but the heat was back on in his apartment, so he could lay Alice down for a nap in her crib, potentially even take a nap of his own. And afterwards, she could play in her bouncer or the playpen while he cooked a real meal, for once.

As he cut across the parking lot toward the street, a flash of bright red in the next row caught his eye: the sun shining off of waving crimson hair, trapped beneath an electric-blue beret. “Oh, come on!” a woman’s voice exclaimed. “Darn this weather!”

Curious, Killian edged between two parked cars toward the voice, and rounded the edge of a large truck. A woman in a motorized wheelchair was fiddling with the controls of the chair, and he realized it was the young lady from his group therapy session, Ariel. Moreover, she appeared to be stuck on a slick bit of pavement, her wheels spinning.

Without thinking, Killian strode toward her, carefully hopping over a treacherous patch of ice. “Fancy meeting you here, stranger,” he said cheerfully, and waved.

The woman looked up, eyes wide. “Hello, Ariel," he added, sidling closer and feeling his cheeks burn. "Looks like you could use a hand.”

She giggled, her cheeks flushed. “Yeah, I’m good and stuck,” Ariel answered. “You’re… Killian, right?”

“Mm-hmm. Good memory,” he answered, nodding, and eyed her chair; one of the back wheels had sunk into a puddle of slush, which was perhaps why she couldn’t get any traction. “Your name’s a bit easier to remember than mine.”

Ariel shrugged, still grinning. Beneath a practical grey anorak, she was colorfully clad, with bright turquoise tights that _almost_ matched her hat, a purple skirt, rainbow-striped mittens and scarf, and dainty pointed high heels in a most remarkable canary yellow color, with a glittery sequined purse to top it all off. “Well, maybe it wasn’t so much you as your _adorable_ baby that I remembered,” she admitted, reaching a hand out to Alice. “Hey there, cutie pie!”

Alice just made a discontented rumble as her hand was gently shaken, smacking her lips, and both of them laughed. “So, uh… should I just give it a shove?” Killian asked, stepping behind Ariel. He set down the gallon of milk he’d been carrying, and took a cautious hold on one of the wheelchair’s handles.

His companion pursed her lips, looking down and around. “Maybe lift that back wheel and push forward at the same time?” she suggested.

Killian obeyed, grunting with the effort, as she worked the chair’s controls; and with a whine of gears, the whole kit slid forward and onto a drier patch of pavement. “All right!” Ariel whooped, and turned to him with a delighted smile. “It worked! Thank you so much!”

He grinned back in return. “Glad to get a mermaid back in the water where she belongs,” he joked, and Ariel laughed, a high, delighted giggle. “Come on, let me walk you back to your car, in case you get stuck again.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she scolded. But she gave him a grateful look, eyes shining, and Killian was astonished to find himself blushing.

He picked up his gallon of milk, then paced alongside her chair as she slowly rolled toward a large van parked in one of the forward spaces. “Brr! So cold out today!” she exclaimed. “I had planned to just stay home, since it’s my day off, but the pharmacy called and said my meds came in, so I decided to brave it.”

“I gather you live nearby?” Killian asked.

She nodded, red hair waving. “Yup, half a mile over in West End. Normally I just roll on down the sidewalk when I need groceries, but with all this snow, I figured I’d better drive.”

“Aye, and even then, your toes must be freezing off,” Killian remarked wryly. “Lovely as those shoes are, they can’t be very warm.”

Ariel rolled her eyes, snorting. “Probably not. Between you and me, though, I can’t tell. They’re fake,” she admitted. “The toes, I mean, not the shoes. Not much from the knees down is real, except my Jimmy Choos. So the only part of me that’s freezing is my nose.”

Then she perked up, eyes sparkling. “But that’s the best part of not walking anymore - all my shoes last forever. And I can go out in heels even when there’s bad weather!”

Killian felt his face flushing, his throat clutching. He was so unused to social interaction that his stomach was already roiling in anticipated remonstration: but to his relief, none was forthcoming. She apparently hadn’t taken offense at his blunder.

Ariel chattered on about the merits of her favorite designer shoes for a moment longer, as they approached the vehicle. Then she unlocked her van with a chirp of electronics, and the vehicle automatically opened its side door and extended a ramp for her.

“Anyway, thanks again for rescuing me,” she said warmly, turning her chair to face him. “See you next week, I hope?”

Killian cleared his throat. He managed to summon his smile again. “Aye, you will,” he assured her. “Maybe you can tell the group about that date of yours.”

She groaned dramatically. “Oh, trust you me, I’m going to. Worst date _ever_ ,” she warned, and began edging her chair onto the van’s ramp. She waved at Alice. “Bye, little one!”

Killian smiled. “Alice, say bye-bye,” he directed, and took her little hand to gently wave it.

“Mmrrgh,” said Alice, unimpressed, and yanked away her hand.

Ariel giggled and waved again. “See you later,” she called, and disappeared into her van.

Killian walked away slowly, the shame of having stuck his foot in his mouth fading, to be replaced by the dawning realization that he may just have made a friend. He watched as the van backed out of the parking space and zoomed out of the parking lot.

At last he turned and started trudging homewards. Alice gurgled, waving her arms. Killian grinned and caught her little hands in his. “All right, all right, Da’s done screwing around,” he told her. “Let’s go home for a nap, shall we?”


	3. Chapter 3

He was actually on time for the next meeting. Still carting along the baby, of course; he’d tried to find a babysitter online, but they all either cost a fortune, or they refused to offer their services in his neighborhood. Not that he could blame them, since someone had set fire to their Dumpster yet again the night before.

Killian took a sip of his decaffeinated coffee - it was quite bad, but at least it was hot and vaguely coffee-flavored - then set the cup down on the floor and dug into the diaper bag for a teething toy for Alice to play with. The blonde girl named Emma was sitting a few seats away, picking aimlessly at her nails and once again ignoring everyone. Ariel had arrived, as well, but was over by the table of donuts, animated in conversation with the bartender named Ruby.

Killian smiled to see Ariel. Clad in a billowing green dress and another pair of towering stilettos (red, this time), she was the picture of carefree Yuletide cheer, silver earrings reflecting the light as she nodded and giggled.

He wondered briefly, as he always did when faced with another person who was so obviously a burn victim, what her accident had been like to cause such terrible damage. Her arms were even worse off than his, with only two stumps of the first two fingers remaining on her right hand, and what he thought might be a 3D-printed prosthetic hand strapped to the end of her left wrist, obviously just for show. And of course, he knew now that those lovely slim ankles beneath her striped stockings were ornamental prosthetics, too. 

The door behind him creaked, and he turned to see the young woman named Jasmine entering the hall, one hand tucked rather romantically into the elbow of the handsome dark-haired man at her side. The couple kissed, and the young man departed.

Jasmine made her way toward the group, stepping carefully and moving her cane in smooth, even swoops. She drew close, and abruptly Killian realized she was headed straight for the chair next to him, which was blocked by Alice’s cot and the diaper bag.

His first instinct was to simply move the stuff, to make sure that there was no collision. But another urge prevailed, and he took a breath and stood up, still holding Alice against his shoulder. He hadn’t any idea whether the young woman simply had low vision or was totally blind - there was no sense in sitting around being unhelpful, though.

“Look out below, there’s baby paraphernalia underfoot in front of you,” he warned, in a joking tone. “The chair next to me is free, though.”

The young woman halted, hesitating. Killian extended his free arm and touched it to her hand; and with a small smile, she took hold of his wrist. “Thank you,” she said simply.

She allowed him to guide her around the chair, then found her seat easily, spreading her lehenga across her knees and tucking her feet below the seat. “You made it here early this time,” she remarked, the corner of her mouth tucking in and giving her a sly expression.

Killian opened his mouth to ask how she’d known who he was, but realized that it was a rather stupid question, given his accent and possession of a baby. “Aye, I managed to get Alice down for her nap a bit earlier today,” he explained.  

The little girl was chewing on the rattle, placidly regarding their new companion, and Killian bounced her on his knee. “She’s starting to teeth, though, and I shudder to think what the next few weeks will be like,” he added, now feeling terribly cheerful.

Jasmine smiled. “Will she mind if I touch her face?” she asked curiously, and tentatively reached out with slim fingers.

Killian chuckled. “I sincerely doubt it,” he answered, and reached out to gingerly guide her hand to Alice’s cheek. “She loves attention, the little diva.” 

Jasmine smiled, the backs of her fingers brushing against the little girl’s face. Alice squinted suspiciously but offered no protest, waving her rattle at the woman and absently kicking her legs.

“I miss babies,” Jasmine said at last, softly, fingering Alice’s short curls. “I was the youngest of all the cousins and siblings back home, and many had small children.”

Killian nodded, watching as the woman caressed Alice’s hair one more time, then traced her hand down to feel one chubby cheek. “Big family, huh?” he remarked.

His companion snorted. “Huge,” she agreed with a crooked grin. “My father had five wives, and his three brothers each had about the same. I had eight brothers and thirteen sisters, including half siblings, and more cousins than I could count.”

Killian whistled. “And here I thought I had it bad, dealing with this one’s nappies,” he said dryly.

Jasmine just laughed, though, and patted Alice’s cheek one last time. “If I ever have children, I’ll never change as many of their diapers as I did for my nieces and nephews,” she said solemnly.

She hesitated, then reached up to take off her sunglasses. Killian cringed internally, but said nothing. He’d already been able to see that the skin around her eyes and nose was mottled with barely-healed scars; but now her eyes were visible, little more than pitted white marbles, and the cruelty of it took his breath away.

“I shan’t go back, though,” she said, perfectly calm, and folded the sunglasses to slide them into her purse. “Challenging as it is to be Muslim in this country, at least I’m permitted to marry as I choose without being shamed and blinded for it.”

Killian swallowed, his throat working. He wanted to tell her that her scars were a badge of honor, as far as he was concerned. But he knew too little about her culture to say it aloud. “I gather that was your fiancé who came in with you?” he asked instead, mildly.

Jasmine nodded, smiling. She seemed about to say something else, when a high-pitched  _ squee _ interrupted them. Killian looked over to see Ariel approaching at high speed, her face beaming.

“Boo, you stole my seat, Jasmine,” she teased, and halted in front of them, her earrings audibly jangling. “Have you met Alice? She’s my new best friend. She helped rescue me from a snowy parking lot last week when my wheels got stuck.”

Jasmine raised her brows, he expression turning curious. Killian laughed. “Oh, she’s getting all the credit now, eh?” he asked mockingly, then heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, I suppose that’s fair, all I did was push a bit. Miss Alice was in charge of the operation.”

Ariel was giggling, looking at the baby with eyes that gleamed in adoration. Killian only paused for one moment before his brain made the decision for him.

“Would you like to hold her?” he offered, and lifted Alice. “She’s been sitting on my lap for too long, she needs a change of scenery.”

He was pleased to see Ariel blink, her mouth forming an O of surprise. Then a tentative, rather wobbling smile spread across her face, and she reached both arms out to gently take Alice around the middle. The little girl squirmed a bit, whining at the sudden relocation. But she settled down once she was on the young woman’s lap, sticking her rattle back into her mouth, her face turning upwards to curiously stare at her new friend.

“Oh,” Ariel said faintly, her voice full of wonder. She put one of her stubby fingers into Alice’s hand, and without hesitation the baby grasped it, leaning back into Ariel’s chest and gnawing away at the toy in her other hand. “It’s been so long since I held a baby. She’s so…  _ soft _ .”

She lowered her nose to the top of Alice’s head and sniffed, then added with delight, “And gosh, that baby-smell! She smells so good!”

“At the moment, probably,” Killian said wryly. “She’s had a bath just this afternoon, and she hasn’t created any noxious gifts for me since.”

Both women laughed. “Might I hold her next?” Jasmine asked wistfully.

Of course he agreed. Before long, the young woman named Ruby was leaning over Ariel’s shoulder, too, cooing at “the little angel” in Jasmine’s lap, holding out a dangling piece of jewelry for Alice to grab. Killian took a deep breath, sitting back and watching the three lovely young women fuss over his adopted daughter. It was a remarkably gratifying tableau, and he absently hoped Eloise was seeing it from wherever she was now. 

_ See how much your baby is loved? _ he thought bitterly, clenching his jaw.  _ If you assumed that leaving her with me would be punishment…. think again, witch! _

At last their group leader came up, smiling patiently. “All right, all right,” said Merlin, putting a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “It’s time to get started with the meeting.”

Ruby shoved a chair out of the way so Ariel could slide in right next to Killian, the three women framing him as he took back the baby and set her on his knee.  _ I feel like Mary greeting the three kings _ , he thought with amusement.

To his dismay, once the group was assembled, Merlin looked straight at him, eyes warm but sharp. “Killian, you and your little one have broken the ice tonight. Would you like to get us started with group talk?”

The women around him chuckled, and his nerves jangled, his body going cold. “Ah,” he said faintly, and cleared his throat, absurdly aware that the young woman named Emma was staring directly at him. “Well, uh… what should I start with?”

Merlin shrugged, opening his hands expansively. “Anything you like. You can talk about your daughter, if you want, since we’re all becoming familiar with her. Or how things have been going since our last meeting. Whatever you would like to share, as much or as little as you feel comfortable.”

Killian looked down at Alice. She was wide awake now, concentrated in the effort of trying to pull her rattle apart, a long line of drool dripping down onto her shirt. “Well,” he said slowly, and wiped away the drool with his sleeve. “She’s, ah… well, I’m not actually certain that she’s my daughter, for one.  Her name’s Alice, though, after my mum.”

He stopped, his jaw working. He felt a gentle hand reassuringly brushing the back of his shoulder, and knew that it was Ariel. “A sort of… ex-girlfriend of mine... gave birth to her last Christmas,” he heard himself say calmly. “Eloise tested positive for all sorts of illegal substances after the delivery, and was hauled off to the county jail within a matter of days for, ah… all number of offenses. So in lieu of letting wee Alice fall into the foster system, too, I took her in. Haven’t taken any kind of paternity test, but I’d like to.”

Several people let out little  _ awws _ or  _ ohs _ , all of them sympathetic. He took another deep breath and fixed his eyes on the top of Alice’s tousled head. “I always wanted to have a family. Find someone and settle down, have kids. Not for awhile yet, I wanted to finish college and help my brother with his business. But then, ah… the gas tank exploded on his boat,” he explained, lifting his left arm and letting it drop back onto his lap. “It’s… it’s really hard without him. Never dreamed I’d be on my own, let alone as a single dad.” He swallowed hard, wondering if Liam was somewhere irritably glaring at him for being so helpless.

Jasmine reached out, beckoning for his hand, and he gripped her fingers tight. The room was silent, so quiet he could hear snow pinging off the windows, and he realized they were waiting for him to finish.

“Anyway, sorry to start the night on a low note. But that’s Alice’s story, and a bit of mine,” he said hastily, then added, “I don’t even know if I’ve told all that to my therapist.” He let out a harsh little laugh.

The others rewarded him with polite, sympathetic laughter, and there were nods around the circle. “That’s how it happened to me, too,” Ariel said suddenly, and Killian looked at her with shock.

She smiled, tilting her head wryly and rolling her eyes. “I mean. Not the ending-up-with-a-kid-by-surprise part. I was cooking burgers out on the barbeque for Fourth of July, and the propane tank on the grill exploded. Sent me flying ten feet across the yard. Lucky thing I was standing with my back to it, or I’d probably have died.”

Her tone was light, but she looked down at her disfigured right hand, mouth twisting. “I miss those kind of picnics, you know?” she said softly. “Going out in the backyard and eating bad food, playing cornhole and chasing my nieces and nephews around. Never trapped by my mobility, or feeling like everyone’s eyes are on me.”

There was a  _ hmm  _ of agreement from the circle. After a moment Ariel smiled crookedly again. “And I miss wearing shorty-shorts in the summer,” she added wistfully. “I had  _ such _ a nice butt.”

This time the group broke into real laughter, Killian included. But he saw that Emma was staring stone-faced at the floor, her face inscrutable behind the veil of blonde curls, and somehow it sobered him, his own laughter dying in his throat. She was chewing on a lock of hair again, her fingers taut and trembling.

_ Has this conversation upset her? _ he wondered, briefly distracted, his stomach turning over in unexpected distress.  _ What’s causing her such pain, to make her so unhappy? _

“Well, you still always look beautiful,” Ruby was saying, eyes shining. “And honestly, I’d give anything to be as cheerful as you are, Ariel.”

Ariel smiled, looking down into her lap again, and shrugged. “I guess that’s just who I am,” she admitted, and brightened. “That’s why I decided to be a body artist, once I could use my hand again. Everyone’s so happy whenever they’ve gotten a new tattoo, looking at their ink in the mirror and admiring the new, beautiful bit of art they’ve chosen for their body. And I have so many wheelies come to me, excited about finding an artist who’s in a chair, too.” Her face was dreamy, green eyes sparkling.

“Have you ever done tattoos for people to cover up scars and such?” another woman in the circle asked curiously.

“Oh, lots of times,” Ariel said, waving a casual hand. “And I have some of my own. See?”

She brandished the underside of her right arm, showing an intricately stippled illustration of pink coral, with a small yellow fish peeking its head out. “This was a big old mess from the grafts, so I decided to just… make it 3D, sort of.” She giggled. “My plastic surgeon was so furious, oh my gosh. After all the hard work he did, I just went and covered it up.”

The group continued asking questions, and the topic soon turned to their occupations, and what skills some of the other attendees had chosen to focus on during their recovery. With nothing to contribute in that line of conversation, Killian found his thoughts drifting… but his eyes found Emma over and over again. She said nothing, barely reacted to the other attendees, and seemed to get more gloomy as the evening went on. More than once, he caught her staring intently at Alice, a frown carving deep lines beside her mouth and nose.

There was a brief lull in the conversation, and for half a minute or so, the group sat silent, shifting in their seats and clearing their throats. “Did everyone have a nice Thanksgiving?” the college professor asked at last, timidly.

It was as if the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees. The room became quiet enough for the creak of wind outside to be audible, and Killian felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.  _ No one can even look at each other anymore _ , he marveled. Plainly, no one wanted to admit that their holiday had been difficult. The professor’s face looked stricken, and even Merlin seemed to be having difficulty coming up with something to say, his eyes nervously flicking around the group.

Killian cleared his throat. “Tell you the truth, I totally forgot about it,” he said casually, and huffed a laugh. “Not really a thing in my country. Wasn’t until I went out for groceries that weekend that I realized I’d missed it.”

A ripple of laughter went around the circle, and with relief, he saw tense faces fading into crooked smiles. He was just about to congratulate himself for once more breaking the ice, when one of the group members shoved their chair back with a screech, then leapt to their feet and hurried out of the hall. It was Emma, blonde hair flying behind her.

“Wait, wait,” said Merlin hastily, getting to his feet.  But it was too late: she disappeared through the door, letting it slam thunderously behind her, and was gone, leaving the air electric with astonishment.

Their leader stood motionless for a minute, his face pained. Then he slowly sat back down and crossed one leg over the other. “Let’s, ah… move on to talking goals for next time, shall we?” he said, and offered a sympathetic smile to the teacher.

* * *

Killian half-expected the distressed young Emma to be sitting on the steps outside afterward, waiting for him to emerge and give her a ride. But the steps were empty, aside from a dusting of snow.

“Brr,” said Ariel, as he held the door for her to come through. She looked up at the sky, from which snow was heavily falling, and smiled with delight. “How pretty, though!”

Ruby, following her out, rolled her eyes. Killian let the door slam, and followed them down the ramp. “Ugh, I hate snow,” the dark-haired woman complained. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t salt the roads so heavy, but I swear my car is fifty percent salt by the time spring rolls around. And it ruins all my best boots!”

“Mua ha ha,” Ariel remarked gleefully, and came to a stop at the bottom of the ramp; her van was parked at the curb just nearby. She exchanged a knowing glance with Killian. He couldn’t help but smile back.

But then her expression grew suddenly serious, and she reached out to both Killian and Ruby with mittened hands. “Hey, before you all go home,” she said, her tone cautious but hopeful. “We might not see each other for another whole month, so I just want to make sure you have somewhere to go on Christmas. Or Chanukah, whatever you celebrate at the end of December. Doing Thanksgiving by yourself is one thing, but… it feels terrible to be alone on the big holiday.”

She gently shook their hands, looking between the two of them with bright eyes. Killian stared down at her, almost dumbfounded by the painful throbbing in his chest.

Ruby nodded. “Well, don’t worry about me,” she answered with a smile. “Granny and I always get together on Christmas Eve with a couple of her old knitting buddies and have way too much mulled wine. And the next day I’m going with my girlfriend Dorothy to see her family. But you’re so sweet for thinking of us, Ariel. Maybe we can do New Year’s together, if you’re around?”

“Ooh, that would be so fun!” Ariel exclaimed, letting go of their hands and clapping. “Let’s plan something,  I’ll find you on Facebook!”

“Awesome,” Ruby said, laughing, She waved, stepping backwards through the snow. “I have to get home, but I’ll see you next month. Have an absolutely wonderful holiday, guys.”

Ariel waved back fondly. “Bye! You, too!”

Killian managed to summon a wave, and smiled at Ruby as she left. “And how about you, Mr. Big Daddy Killian Jones?” Ariel asked, reaching out to grasp his arm again - but this time, his left. He froze. “Do you and Alice have any plans with family or friends?”

For a moment, he struggled to even find words.  _ Just lie _ , sneered a little voice in the back of his mind.  _ She doesn’t need to be bothered by your miserable play-acting. Not on Christmas. _

But her eyes were so hopeful, shining up at him in the light from the street lamp, that he couldn’t help but speak the truth. “No, we haven’t,” he admitted. “I certainly don’t want to inconvenience you, though. We can just, ah… celebrate on our own.”

He placed a protective hand on the top of Alice’s snugly hooded head, trying to hide the frantic churning of his stomach. She’d long since gone to sleep, barely resisting when he put her snowsuit back on and slid her into the chest carrier.

Ariel scoffed. “Don’t be a silly goose, you wouldn’t be an inconvenience,” she protested, and patted his arm. “I’m going to have a bunch of friends over on Christmas Day, anyway, and you and Alice would be more than welcome to join us. There’ll be pie and cookies and eggnog and silly movies on TV… ooh, and all kinds of fish and pasta for dinner, because my one friend is Italian and I let her do the cooking while I drink wine.” 

She giggled and gave a little shrug, rolling her eyes angelically upwards. Killian swallowed, nearly choking on the emotions that roiled up into his throat, his heart racing. Not trusting himself to answer aloud just yet, he nodded. 

“Oh, goody!” Ariel exclaimed, and clapped her hands again. “I’ll find you on Facebook, too, so I can invite you!”

Killian blinked. “I, ah… don’t have one,” he responded roughly. “A Facebook, I mean.”

“Well, then let me get my phone out,” Ariel said reasonably, undeterred, and pulled her purse up to rummage through it.  “What’s your number?”

His heart was beginning to slow down from its frantic pace, her irresistible cheer calming him. She pulled off a mitten to type into her cellphone (its case was pink and sparkly, of course), and he gave her his own phone number to add as a contact. He watched as she misspelled his name as  _ Cillian Jones _ , and shook his head, chuckling, when she added an emoji of a baby’s face next to it and promptly hit Save.

“Okay, then,” she said at last, and tucked the phone away, turning her sunny smile up to him again. “I’ll see you on Christmas, then, if not before!  I’ll make sure to have plenty of yummy food.”

The snow had begun sticking in her hair, decorating the long scarlet waves with flecks of white, and Killian smiled back at her. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Good night, Ariel.”

“Byyye!” she sang, and turned her chair to leave.


	4. Chapter 4

He couldn’t have said what made him drive past Emma’s block; it wasn’t really on his way back to the apartment. Maybe it was simply because Alice was peacefully quiet in the backseat, making the most precious little whispering snores as she slept, and he knew he had a few extra moments of silence to himself. Regardless, he clicked on his turn signal at the Knight Street light, and turned left instead of straight.

Several blocks later, he slowed, peering out the passenger’s side window at the corner of Seventeenth and Knight. He felt an irrational drop in his stomach to see that it was deserted, wind whipping snow around the corners of the dark old buildings.

_ Well, what did you expect? _ Killian chided himself, grumpy.  _ That she would be waiting on the corner to wave at you? Idiot _ .  He shook his head with a sigh and turned onto Seventeenth to go around the block and head back home.

And then he saw it, the shadows and light falling just so that he caught a glimpse as the snow swirled by. A thin figure, huddled forlorn against the side of the building, hands wrapped around its knees.

Without thinking, he hit the brakes and stopped, then put on his blinkers. With a glance back at Alice - still fast asleep in the warm backseat - he hopped out of the car and slammed the door behind him.

“This is stupid, this is so stupid,” he muttered to himself as he strode quickly across the snowy sidewalk.

Her blonde hair was almost covered in snow, as was her black beanie, her arms clutched tightly around her legs and her shoulders shivering. A duffel bag sat next to her, its strap looped over her elbow.

Killian took a deep breath. “Hey,” he said softly, squatting in front of her, and touched her shoulder. “Hey, Emma, are you all right?”

She didn’t answer, except to slightly rock back and forth. He could feel the trembling of her body as her chest heaved with silent sobs. At last she shook her head, not raising her face to him, and there was a wordless, muffled moan.

He considered for about half a second, then gently worked his fingers into one of her gloved hands, squeezing. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?” he asked. “At least come sit in a warm car for a second, it’s freezing out here.”

A long moment passed as she didn’t respond. At last she lifted her head, baring a tear-streaked, reddened face. She let out a breath, staring at him with dim eyes behind which hysteria was scrabbling. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”

She lowered her head onto her hands again, shaking. “You can’t what, love?” Killian asked. “Can’t leave, or can’t walk?”  He was beginning to shiver, and glanced back at his car to make sure it hadn’t rolled away. No, still idling on the road, steam rising from the tailpipe.

Another sob and a shake of the head was her only response. He sighed, selfish instinct telling him to get back in the car with Alice and drive away.

Finally, he moved to crouch next to her. “Okay. Come on, lass,” he said softly, and put his arms under her.

Emma didn’t resist as he picked her up off the ground, his back and left arm and shoulder screaming in protest. His breath coming in heaves of frosty white, he carried her the few steps back to his car. He managed to tilt her against his shoulder and fumble for the passenger door, the handle sticking with the cold. Tugging it open, Killian tucked her into the passenger’s seat. She was still crying, hands over her face, and bent to sob into her knees. He went back to retrieve her bag, and carefully levered it into the compartment at her feet.

He was shivering strongly by the time he got back into the driver’s seat; and he could hear grunting and whining from a grumpy, sleepy Alice in the back seat. But at least they were all warm.

“Is there somewhere I can take you, Emma?” he asked quietly, and put a hand on her shoulder again. “A friend’s house, back to the church, anywhere at all?” He thought for a moment about offering his couch, but balked at the idea of bringing someone, even a perfect stranger, into the hurricane-like state of the living room.

Emma looked up at him, tears streaming from her eyes, and sniffled, her throat working. “I… I can’t,” she said, her voice hoarse with crying. She was beginning to shiver, and he resisted the urge to turn the heat up to full blast. “I can’t, I have no right to be such a burden…”

She lowered her head, face wrenching with another sob. “Oh, love, you’re not a burden,” Killian assured her, his throat choked. “If they’re true friends, and I’m sure they are, they’ll be happy to see you.”

The car was quiet for a short time; Alice was settling down in the backseat, making her grouchy  _ hrrrmmmng _ noises, and Emma was still crying, her breath hitching. 

Killian was about to turn off the car and wait, when she finally spoke, her voice nearly a wheeze. “They’re all the way across town, though, almost in Arlington. I can’t… I can’t ask you to…” 

She trailed off, and looked up with teary eyes. The tiny irritated voice inside him heaved a huge, exhausted sigh. It was past eight o’clock already, and he daren’t try to convince himself that Alice’s infant patience would last another twenty minutes, let alone the hour it would take to drive to Arlington and back. 

But the forlorn weariness in Emma’s eyes was too much to resist, and he had a diaper bag full of prepared formula and wipes. He reached forward to put the car in Drive. 

“Just tell me where to go,” he said softly, and gave her a crooked smile.

* * *

Emma had recovered some of her composure by the time they arrived, and stood at his side on the front stoop, sniffling and wiping at her tears. Killian reached up to ring the doorbell, but didn’t even get a finger near the button before the door was thrown open.

“Emma!” exclaimed the tall man inside the door, his voice suffused with joy and relief. “Oh, Emma! Thank God, we’ve been so worried about you!”

The man reached out and grabbed both of her hands to pull her into the house willy-nilly and embrace her. Somehow, Killian was unsurprised to see that it was the same fair-haired man he’d encountered at the grocery store, the gentle clerk who had provided Alice with her free banana.

“Oh, God, Emma, I’m so glad to see you,” the man murmured, hugging the young woman close and putting his cheek onto the top of her head.

“David? Who is it?” came a woman’s voice from inside the house, and Killian shrank back a bit, involuntarily cringing.  “Did you say it’s Emma?”

David looked up, catching Killian’s eyes, and his face became blank with astonishment as he saw Alice. “Hi,” Killian stammered, patting his probably-definitely-daughter’s back. “She really needs to get to bed, I just wanted to make sure Emma got-”

A full-throated wail expressed directly into his ear interrupted him, his normally sweet, well-behaved baby screaming with discontent and exhaustion and hunger. “There, there, lass,” he said, panic shrilling through his veins, and turned away, rocking his poor wee Alice. “This is just a pit stop. We’ll be on our way home soon, I promise.”

As he patted her back, her shrill, dispirited wails continued to assault his ear. It was a ‘hungry’ sort of crying, but he realized he had no way to heat up her formula, short of holding the bottle against the tailpipe. “I’m so sorry, darling, we’ll be home soon,” he muttered, and began to sing into her ear. “ _ Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee, all through the night _ …”

He turned back to the door, still singing under his breath. A petite, dark-haired woman had appeared, holding the hand of a young boy. To Killian’s astonishment, the boy launched himself forward at Emma, wrapping his arms around her legs.

“Where were you? I missed you!” the boy sobbed. He was wearing pajamas decorated with dinosaurs and fuzzy slippers, obviously ready for bed.

Emma bent down, putting her own arms around him tightly. “I missed you, too, Henry,” she answered, her voice thick with tears. “I’m sorry, I… I’m here now, okay?”

The man named David stepped around her, towards Killian. “Do you want to come in for a minute?” he offered, over Alice’s shrill cries. Killian glanced down and saw that David and the dark-haired woman were wearing matching wedding rings. “Sounds like she’s hungry.”

“Aye, she is,” Killian responded gratefully. “If you don’t mind, I have formula with me, it just needs heated up…”

“No, please,” the man insisted, almost desperately, and put a fatherly sort of hand around Killian's shoulders to usher him toward the door. As Killian passed the dark-haired woman, who was standing over Emma and the boy with a tearful smile, he saw that she was heavily pregnant.

The hallway was gloriously warm inside, and smelled richly of butter, curry spices, and meat. Alice’s wails tapered off briefly into sniffles and whimpering, and Killian sagged with relief. He hitched her up higher onto his shoulder and rootled hastily into the diaper bag, trying to find the bottle and baggie of formula.  

Emma and the small boy came down the hall hand-in-hand; Killian hastily stepped aside for them to pass. She didn’t look up at him, but he saw her swallow, her lips compressing. They turned into the house’s living room, and he was left alone in the hallway.

There was a sudden hand on his arm, soft but insistent, and the front door was slammed shut. “Thank you so much for bringing her here. David and I have been practically frantic,” the dark-haired woman said, looking up at him with glistening eyes and a wide smile, tugging at his hand. “How you do know Emma?”

“Uh… group therapy,” Killian stammered, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. “I’m Killian. I just happened to drive by her… uh, the block where she lives, and saw her out on the sidewalk.”

The woman and her husband exchanged a glance, and the man’s expression turned thunderous. “They must have turned her out again,” he said darkly, and shook his head with a sigh.

Alice whimpered, yanking at Killian's coat, and the dark-haired woman’s expression turned soft. “Oh, who’s a hungry little baby,” she cooed, then looked up to Killian curiously. “Does she need to be fed? I can take her in the other room. I just put our son down to sleep, and the little stinker always leaves me half-full.”

Killian frowned, confused. Then he realized what she was proposing, and mouthed for a moment. “I, um… I guess…?”  he stuttered at last.

But the woman was already in motion, briskly pulling Alice out of Killian’s arms, leaving him feeling suddenly light and dazed. “There, there,” she said soothingly, patting the baby’s back, and added, laughing, “Trust me, you’ll be doing me a favor.”

“O-okay. Thanks,” Killian said helplessly, and watched as the woman comforted his tear-streaked, miserable daughter, lightly bouncing Alice on one hip.

They disappeared into the same living room where Emma and the boy had gone. “Come on,” said David wryly, and patted his shoulder. “Have a cup of coffee with me while they’re busy. Decaf, I promise.”

Killian wordlessly obeyed, numbly following the man into a cozy, brightly lit kitchen and allowing his coat to be politely taken. He looked around as the older man spoke, obligingly settling into a spindly kitchen chair while coffee was made. Evidently the two were Mary Margaret and David Nolan, a schoolteacher and an assistant grocery store manager, and they had taken Emma in as their foster daughter when she was sixteen, then adopted her barely eighteen months later. 

Killian stared around the cheerful kitchen, only half-listening, his eyes roving over the cream cabinets with swirling painted ivy vines, the live herbs on the tiny windowsill, the many photographs on the refrigerator. It felt more like a home than anywhere he’d been in the last ten years.

“So, Killian. You met Emma at group therapy,” David said, startling Killian out of his daze. “What, ah… what group therapy is that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He had spoken carefully, blue eyes cautious, and Killian frowned again. How many therapy groups could Emma possibly belong to? “Burn victims,” he said at last, bluntly.

To his surprise, the other man nodded, looking relieved. “Good,” he said, his mouth curling into a smile. “That’s really good, I’m glad she decided to do that. She needs to meet people like her.”

Killian raised a curious eyebrow, not sure whether to be offended or pleased. The other man coughed, and rose awkwardly to tend to the beeping coffee machine. “Emma… she had it really rough before she came to us,” David said quietly. “She was on the streets for awhile after her injury. And she, ah, got into some trouble. We’ve tried our best to be home for her....”

He shrugged, and came back to the table with a pair of mugs in one hand and the coffee pot in the other. “Well, let’s just say she doesn’t like relying on people,” he explained, suddenly looking tired. Killian suddenly noticed the silver hairs subtly gleaming on the other man’s temples, the fine lines around his eyes. “And it takes a long time to earn her trust.”

They sat quietly for a moment, pouring coffee and sipping at it. There was a small pot of cream on the table, but Killian ignored it, relishing the bitter, nutty taste of the very excellent black brew. He hadn’t been able to afford decent coffee in months.

At last, he offered, “It was my pleasure to drive Emma here, truly. And I’ll have to thank your wife for feeding the babe. I hope Alice knows what to do, though. She’s only ever breastfed a few times, just after she was born.”  _ And she never got the chance to breastfeed with her mother _ , he wanted to add, but it seemed too depressing to say out loud.

The other man chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, the instinct will kick in,” he said confidently. “She’s what, ten or eleven months old?”

Killian nodded. “Yeah, she’ll be fine,” David said, waving a negligent hand. “We had to bottle-feed Henry when he was little since Emma couldn’t always breastfeed him, but when she could, he had no problem.”

The air suddenly seemed to vanish from Killian’s lungs, leaving a breathless vacuum, and he froze. After a moment, he picked up his coffee mug again and took a sip. “Henry’s her lad?” he asked casually, swirling the coffee in the mug. Perhaps she was older than he had assumed.

“Mm-hmm,” David answered, nodding. “Turns five in a couple of weeks. She had him not long after we brought her home, so he’s always been a part of the family.”

Killian’s throat clutched again. “Christ,” he muttered. The other man blinked, taken aback, and Killian cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks flame red. “Sorry,” he said meekly. “I didn’t… I don’t actually know much about Emma. She doesn’t talk in the group.”

David nodded, relaxing back into his chair. “Yeah, she’s very private,” he admitted.

They were silent again, but this time it was a comfortable sort of quiet, interrupted by voices from the other room. Killian could make out the little boy’s voice, piping and happy, underlaid by Emma’s lower tones, and the faint sound of Mary Margaret humming to Alice. He sipped at his coffee, staring at a drawing on the wall: stick figures of a family in front of a house. It was signed  _ Henry _ in clumsy, large letters. A commonplace item, but so precious.

He suddenly laughed, and the other man gave him a curious look. “It, ah... just occurred to me that this is the first time in eight months that I’ve just sat and relaxed,” Killian said ruefully. “Even when wee Alice is asleep, I’m still on edge, you know? Waiting for that next cry.”

“God, do I ever know that feeling,” David said, with a crooked grin.

There was a sudden creak of springs from the next room. “Killian? I think she’s finished,” called Mary Margaret.

He was on his feet before he could think about it, striding into the living room. Emma was seated on a couch with her little boy curled up next to her, sucking his thumb; she assiduously avoided Killian’s gaze as he crossed over to where Mary Margaret sat in a low reclining chair.

She was just pulling the edges of her shirt together, Alice limp and sleepy in her other arm.  “She was a little pig at first, but I think she’s ready for bedtime,” Mary Margaret said cheerfully, and raised the baby onto her shoulder, patting Alice’s back with firm slaps. “I hope you live close?”

Killian shrugged, and watched as the baby belched, her head relaxing onto the woman’s shoulder. “No, North End,” he said, feeling irrationally jealous. “She usually sleeps pretty well in the car, though.”

He swallowed, and reached out to take the baby. Mary Margaret looked at him with wide eyes, but handed Alice up to him without comment.

The baby was warm and boneless, her head lolling. He lifted her to rest gently against his chest, and felt a familiar pang as her chubby hand slowly wrapped itself around his necklace. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I, ah… I had formula with me, but I guess this was easier.” He kissed her soft hair, wishing he didn’t feel so self-conscious.

Mary Margaret made a dismissive noise and leaned forward to work her way out of the chair, groaning. Killian offered his free arm, and she grabbed it to haul herself upright. “Whew,” she said, breathless. “Like I said, she did me a favor. I hate pumping. I’ll be glad when the new one comes along and gives me a break from that.”  She rubbed the small of her back, grimacing.

“When are you due?” Killian asked curiously, automatically swaying side-to-side while rubbing Alice’s back.

“Three weeks, and it cannot go fast enough,” Mary Margaret said wryly. “Every day I tell David, if he wants another kid after this, he’d better get back to filling out adoption paperwork.”

She snapped her fingers meaningfully and looked over at Emma and Henry with a warm smile. The younger woman looked away, eyes inscrutable; but her hand tightened on Henry’s shoulder.

“Well, I guess I’d better get moving,” Killian said reluctantly. “Thanks again.”

David and Mary Margaret were effusive with their own thanks, patting him on the back and offering to have him for dinner sometime. The other man held Alice, expertly cradling her in one arm like a football, as Killian slipped back into his coat and picked up the diaper bag.

Once Alice was back in his arms, Killian took a deep breath and walked into the hallway. “See you next month, Emma,” he said quietly, almost over his shoulder.

She was silent, but from the corner of his eye, he saw her raise her head just a little, and force a smile. Then he left the house with slow, measured steps, carrying Alice homewards.


	5. Chapter 5

He was woken by the insistent pinging of his phone, vibrating against the sheets. Alice had only reluctantly gone down for her afternoon nap, and he’d seized the opportunity to lie in bed and stare at the wall before taking a totally-not-depression-nap of his own. 

_ Christ, go away _ , he thought, grumpy.

Then there was another ping, and he realized it was a series of text messages, not a voice call. That caught his attention: no one _ever_ texted him.

Groaning, he sat up and looked toward the crib at the end of the bed. Mercifully, Alice was still asleep, her mouth a soft O, her arms spread innocently on her mattress, and the fingers of one hand curled loosely around the arm of her stuffed rabbit. Killian fumbled under the pillow for the phone and raised it to his face, blinking bleary-eyed at the four messages from an unknown number.

_ hey thanks for rescuing me last week, im embarrassed af _

_ stupid rehab house kicked me out again. someone else hid her drugs in my stuff _

_ can i pay u back with free food? david and mm do a big xmas eve dinner & they said invite u. super delicious, i promise _

_ this is emma btw. got ur number from ariel _

He stared at the messages for a long moment, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Rubbing at his eyes, he considered whether he could just hit the call button, or whether he should reply by text.  “Probably wouldn’t even pick up if I called,” he muttered, and slid open the keyboard.

_ You’re most welcome. Christmas Eve dinner sounds lovely, give David and MM my thanks _ , he typed slowly.  Biting his lip, he hesitated, then hit Send. After a moment’s thought, he sent a second message as well:  _ Did Ariel invite you to her Christmas dinner? _

It was another hour before his phone pinged with another text message. Alice shrieked, windmilling her arms and legs so that water from her bath splashed everywhere. “Oh no, there’s a monster in the tub,” Killian teased, and ticked her chubby belly to make her giggle and shriek again. “Look out!”

Wiping his hand on his jeans, he reached into his pocket.  _ yeah she did. if alice goes i will _ , Emma’s text read.

Killian laughed aloud. “Are you seeing this, baby?” he asked Alice, incredulous, and showed her the text message. “I’m no more than a go-between to every woman in my life.”

She giggled and reached up for the phone, wet fingers curling, and he shook his head, hastily stuffing the phone into his back pocket again and reaching out to grab a rubber duck from the bathwater. “No, lass, no phones for you until you’re old enough not to drop them in your bath,” he said sternly, and squeaked the duck at her. “Or throw them in, more like.”

Eventually he got Alice out of her bath and dried her off, then shucked her into one of the Christmas outfits the church ladies had dropped off the week before, red footie pajamas with a white tulle tutu around the middle. Soon she was sitting on her play mat, contentedly banging foam blocks together and talking nonsense to her doll.

Killian threw himself onto the decrepit couch nearby, phone in hand. His shirt and jeans were still damp, but he could change them later.  _ Alice plans to attend, as does her father _ , he typed, then added,  _ Perhaps you can bring little Henry as your date. _

He set down the phone and picked up his laptop; he’d found a posting online yesterday for a job down at the harbor, and wanted to find the phone number as quickly as possible, before the opening was filled. He clicked onto the link, chest tight with anxious hope - there! The job was still vacant. He let out a long breath and picked up his phone to dial the number.

The line rang a few times, then there was a clunk. “Massachusetts DCR,” said a perky voice.

“Hi, I’m calling about the, um, operator job at the historical harbor?” Killian said hastily, the words tripping over themselves on his tongue. “It’s listed on the website.”

There was a pause, and the clicking of keys. “Ummm,” said the voice, thoughtful. It sounded like a young woman, but Killian couldn’t be sure. “Yeah. We’re always looking for operators. You ever work on a tourist vessel?”

His heart began to race. “No,” he admitted. “But I spent about six years working on my brother’s fishing trawler. And… well, I know a lot about ships.”

“Mmkay,” the person said casually. “That’s pretty good. You have to apply online, though. You can create a profile and fill out the questions, then upload your résumé at the end.”

_ A résumé _ _? _ Killian felt his mouth go dry. He’d never created a résumé before, since there had never been any need. Liam’s business had always been there. “Okay,” he replied, his stomach sinking.

From the corner of his eye, he saw that Alice had abandoned her blocks and was crawling straight towards the radiator; adrenaline leapt through him in a hot wave. He scrambled to his feet, sending the laptop bouncing onto the couch, and swept Alice up around the middle just as she was reaching out towards the hot coils. She grunted in surprised displeasure, beating her little feet against his middle. One heel caught him directly in the crotch, and for a moment he saw stars.

The person on the other end of the line had continued talking, giving him the address for the website where he could apply, but he’d missed most of it. “Thanks,” Killian said dully, holding Alice close and bouncing her, looking around to find some kind of toy to distract her from her outrage. “It’s just seasonal work, right?”

There was a dismissive noise. “Yeah, but once you get hired, it’s really easy to find another park job during the off-season,” the person assured him. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Killian said again, and reluctantly hung up.

Alice was making a whiny growling noise, clinging to his shirt with both hands. Somehow she had gotten dirt on one cheek, and one of the buttons on her outfit had come unsnapped. “You are a disaster of a child, you know that?” he informed her.

“Mmmergh,” she replied, discontented, and bonked her head into his chest.

Killian sighed, and bent down to retrieve a teething toy for her. It was nearly six o’clock already, the sun long since vanished beneath the horizon, and although there were plenty of Gerber jars and formula packets in the pantry for Alice, he needed to cook something if he was going to get any dinner of his own.

“So much for job applications,” he muttered, and handed Alice her teething ring.

* * *

By bedtime, he’d totally forgotten about both phone and job application. His shirt and jeans were now dry, but also splattered with remnants of both his dinner and Alice’s. The shards from the glass he’d dropped could wait until morning, glued to the linoleum by the skim milk that had been almost filling it. He’d managed to get down a plate of plain pasta with tomato sauce before the tragedy occurred, and would just have to remember not to go into the kitchen barefoot.

“Good thing we don’t have a cat, eh?” he remarked to the baby.

Alice’s brows clenched briefly in a frown, but relaxed after a moment. She had her eyes closed and her entire fist stuck in her mouth as he rocked her, and tentatively he began stepping towards her crib.

She liked songs before her bedtime, and for a moment he struggled to think of which lullaby to choose. At last he gave up and went with a classic. “ _ Bahh, bahh, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full… _ ” he began softly, and carefully raised one foot to ease down the side of her crib.

He’d been reading parenting articles online lately, obsessed with the idea of letting Alice soothe herself to sleep. But with only the one room in the tiny apartment, the practice had essentially meant hiding in the kitchen or bathroom for the intervals where she was asleep. He continued singing the lullaby as he laid her down, spreading the soft flannel blanket over her with a careful hand.

“Baaa, baba,” Alice murmured, going limp against the mattress. Killian stared down at her with awe; he could never stop marveling at the soft, perfect lines of her tiny lips, the bulge of her round pink cheeks, and how her fine golden hair fell in gentle waves across her forehead.

He tiptoed away, leaving her breathing lightly, and picked up his laptop on the way. The router was strong enough that he could sit on the toilet and apply for jobs online, right?

He was just settling the laptop onto the edge of the sink when his phone pinged again. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled it out and silenced it.

_ maybe _ , said the brief text message on the screen.

“Shit,” Killian muttered, and opened the messaging app to check the time stamp. Sure enough, Emma hadn’t sent a text message for a couple hours after his last inquiry. Had she been offended? Was little Henry a sensitive topic?

But then the app made a  _ swoop _ noise, and another message appeared.  _ see you next week then, i guess _ , Emma had typed. And then, larger than the rest of the text, a Christmas tree emoji.

Killian laughed softly, and settled back onto the edge of the sink.  _ See you then _ , he typed back.


End file.
